The Bastet
by Whatever Makes You Break
Summary: Charlie could manage taming some of the fiercest dragons on earth, but dragons were nothing but overgrown lizards compared to Farrow.
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**_

–

_A careless shepherd makes excellent  
dinner for a wolf._

–

A disheveled man appeared out of nowhere in the narrow, blue moonlit lane. He walked with a slight limp, clutching his long leather cloak tight around him as if some nonexistent wind had suddenly chilled him to the bone. He was covered in what appeared to be mud, or soot, or possibly a mixture of the two. He was a tall man with long, tangled brown hair with a red streak. His skin was fair from what was visible from beneath the grime that coated nearly his entire body. He wore black boots and a black studded belt that looked as if it was used more as a tool of intimidation rather than holding up his dark plaid pants. There was no denying that he would come off rather chilling on most days, but his current shaken expression did little to support such a claim.

He drug his left leg with some difficulty until he reached a second man, wearing a dark cloak and an even darker expression. For a second they stood quite still, wands directed at each other's chests; then, recognizing each other, they stowed their wands beneath their cloaks and started walking briskly in the same direction.

"We heard what's happened," said Severus Snape apathetically. "He wishes to speak with you."

"It was 'er again, Severus," replied Scabior in a tone that desperately tried to seem indifferent but failed miserably, clutching his cloak ever tighter. "She– She's not even human."

The lane was bordered on the left by wild, low-growing brambles, on the right by a high, neatly manicured hedge. The men's long cloaks flapped around their ankles as they marched, and Severus noticed that quite a bit of blood had began to seep from the brim Scabior's left boot. He contemplated asking him if he could mend his wound but quickly ignored such an idea. The man deserved nothing but the most profound abuse for the crimes he committed daily, and Severus knew every gory detail. They turned right, into a wide driveway that led off the lane. The high hedge curved into them, running off into the distance beyond the pair of imposing wrought-iron gates barring the men's way. Neither of them broke step: In silence both raised their left arms in a kind of salute and passed straight through, as though the dark metal was smoke. The yew hedges muffled the sound of the men's footsteps.

A handsome manor house grew out of the darkness at the end of the straight drive, lights glinting in the diamond paned downstairs windows. Somewhere in the dark garden beyond the hedge a fountain was playing. Gravel crackled beneath their feet as Snape and Scabior sped toward the front door, which swung inward at their approach, though nobody had physically opened it.

The hallway was large, dimly lit, and sumptuously decorated, with a magnificent carpet covering most of the stone floor. The eyes of the pale-faced portraits on the wall followed Snape and Scabior as they strode past. The two men halted at a heavy wooden door leading into the next room, hesitated for the space of a heartbeat, then Snape turned the bronze handle.

The drawing room was full of silent people, sitting at a long and ornate table. Five seats sat empty, two belonging to them. The other three missing were the LeStrange brothers and Fenrir Greyback. The room's usual furniture had been pushed carelessly up against the walls. Illumination came from a roaring fire beneath a handsome marble mantelpiece surmounted by a gilded mirror. Snape and Scabior lingered for a moment on the threshold.

"Scabior. Snape," said a high, clear voice from the head of the table.

The speaker was seated directly in front of the fireplace, so that it was difficult, at first, for the new arrivals to make out more than his silhouette. As they drew nearer, however, his face shone through the gloom, hairless, snakelike, with slits for nostrils and gleaming red eyes whose pupils were vertical. He was so pale that he seemed to emit a pearly glow.

"Snape, here," said Voldemort, indicating the seat on his immediate right. "Scabior in the middle beside Bellatrix."

The two men took their allotted places. Most of the eyes around the table followed Scabior, though he refused to acknowledge any of them, and it was to him that Voldemort spoke first.

"How many this time?" he asked.

"Two," Scabior replied hoarsely. "She's killed two more of me men, she 'as."

"No, you ignorant fool," said Voldemort coldly, looking down at Scabior as if he was worth nothing more than a toad's bellybutton lint. "How many mudbloods escaped?"

"Oh!" he squeaked, blushing slightly and looking down at his hands. "Seven, there were seven that escaped."

"Seven," said Voldemort impassively, slowly pushing himself to his feet to almost hover around the long table. "Seven has always been a favored number of mine, usually lucky as well, but apparently the same does not go for you."

"I– I'm so sorry, my Lord," he quivered in reply. "Everything just 'appened to fast, 'n I don't know what 'appened. It's so 'ard to explain 'n–"

"Do try," said Voldemort quietly but no two syllables had ever struck so much terror into Scabior before.

A soft voice seemed to hiss on even after the cruel mouth had stopped moving. One or two of the wizards barely repressed a shudder as the hissing grew louder; something heavy could be heard sliding across the floor beneath the table. The huge snake emerged to climb slowly up Voldemort's chair. It rose, seemingly endlessly, and came to rest across Voldemort's shoulders: its neck the thickness of a man's thigh; its eyes, with their vertical slits for pupils, unblinking. Voldemort stroked the creature absently with long thin fingers, still looking at Scabior.

He opened his mouth as if his response was stuck in this throat, only monosyllabic grunt managed to escape his lips for a moment or two. He looked helplessly about to the numerous silent figures around him but most did not meet his pleading gaze and those who did appeared indifferent to his helplessness at best. Bellatrix sat between Scabior and her sister, as unlike her in looks, with her dark hair and heavily lidded eyes, as she was in bearing and demeanor; where Narcissa sat rigid and impassive. Bellatrix oddly did not look up, her eyes remained in her lap opposed to their usual relentless longing gaze onto Voldemort. She appeared even paler than usual, her hands were awkwardly positioned on her lap. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Scabior unfogged his mind with the clearing of his throat and looked up to Voldemort once again.

"We 'ad picked up a family of five 'n a couple just outside Puzzlewood, hidin' out, they were, but we got 'em," said Scabior, his throat noticeably dry. "We were leading them back with us when everything 'appened. Me two associates each 'ad a pair of the adults disarmed, 'n I was managin' the three little rats–"

"Do get to the climax of your dilemma, Scabior," Voldemort yawned, looking down slightly at Nagini. "We are all rather tired, and Nagini is hungry. You do know what happens when Nagini misses a meal."

"Er– yes! Of course, my Lord, so sorry," he said, bowing his head apologetically to the snake on Voldemort's shoulders. "Well, we 'ad just reached the portkey the Ministry 'ad set up for us when _she_ showed up again. I didn't even 'ave time to reach for me wand before she killed O'Marrow, tackled 'im from behind as if she came from the trees 'n stabbed a dagger straight through 'is neck. Then it was like she disappeared into the darkness 'n by the time I spotted 'er again she was hanging Rigby's corpse from a tree limp by 'is ankles. She threw the confiscated wands to the ruddy mudbloods before I could stop 'er. I apparated just before she could finish me off too. It just I mean, everything just 'appened so fast–"

"Yes, we've well established the haste of the situation," said Voldemort in a voice that sounded nothing more than bored. "Now, who was this girl?"

"I– I don't know," he stammered.

"You mean to tell me that you've escaped her attacks four times now, and you cannot deliver me her name?"

Bellatrix released an involuntary squeak that only drew the attention of Narcissa, who sent her a confused sideways glance, but Bellatrix did not look up.

"S– She's like a shadow," Scabior began, trying to redeem himself. "She hides in the darkness, 'n preys on us Snatchers like a jungle cat. I've only caught a good glimpse of 'er once in the moonlight. She's got tan skin, like she's only lived outdoors since birth. 'er hair is as black as night 'n 'er eyes are like a feline, a greenish-yellow 'n bright even in the darkness. She wears coal around her eyes too, like a drawn on mask or something, 'n she moves... she moves like an animal, like an elegant huntress."

"Such a detailed description for someone who claims to no nothing of his attacker," Voldemort seethed. "She has slaughtered no less than fourteen of my Snatchers and freed well over fifty mudbloods, and yet you still know so little. Perhaps, your tenure has ended. Perhaps, you have grown weak, Scabior, your mind gone feeble. And perhaps, Nagini would appreciate an easy dinner."

The large snake from Voldemort's shoulder swayed and slithered from his shoulders onto the wooden table while everyone prepared to cringe at another sickening meal for the snake. Scabior appeared so frightened that he couldn't move or breathe for that matter.

"The Bastet," a foreign bark-like voice interrupted from the newly opened doorway. "You know, the Egyptian goddess, the feline protector of the innocent? That is what the mudbloods call her."

Nagini froze and recoiled onto Voldemort's shoulders as Fenrir Greyback's monstrous frame entered the room, claiming his usual seat between Travers and Yaxley. Scabior couldn't have looked more relieved.

"Ah, Fenrir, how nice of you to finally join us," said Voldemort dryly, ignoring Greyback's rather redundant sentiment.

"My sincerest apologies, my Lord, but I was... let's call it interrogating a few witnesses," he smirked to himself and it appeared that no one but Draco Malfoy seemed the slightest bit perturbed as he licked away a small blotch of fresh blood from his lower lip that obviously did not belong to the werewolf himself. "They were reluctant to give me any information, but a mother always protects her young... no matter the cost."

"Very good," said Voldemort, able to overlook his tardiness for useful information. "Go on, Fenrir."

"No one seems to know her true name," said Greyback, and Narcissa sent Bellatrix another sideways glance as she heard her sister breathe a quiet sigh of relief. "_The Bastet_ appears to be her calling card to the lot of the mudbloods. She rescues the mongrels and hides them out all across Europe. She even robs the corpses of Snatchers to give the mudbloods some sort of finances to live off of. She must have a name, my Lord, and I am determined to retrieve it. I've seen her only once, but I can tell she's reasonably young and as beautiful as she is deadly."

Fenrir smiled a sickening grin and bit his lower lip with his razor sharp teeth. For the first time since their meeting began, Bellatrix looked up. She locked eyes with Fenrir and her expression appeared unreadable, her hands tightened in her lap.

"We must dispose of her, Fenrir," said Voldemort firmly. "I will leave her fate to you, and Scabior I suppose."

Voldemort looked at Scabior with the utmost detest but returned his stare onto Fenrir not a moment later.

"It would be my honor, my Lord," said Greyback, smiling wickedly.

"But bring her back alive," said Voldemort curtly. "You know how Nagini likes to play with her food before she eats it."

–

"I've told you, Charlie, the work you've done in Romania and eastern Europe has been nothing short of a godsend but–" stated Arthur Weasley to his furious-looking son as he sat with his elbows on his knees upon a favored velvet armchair before a roaring fire.

"Then why bring me back?" he demanded, striding back and forth before the fire as his father looked on helplessly. "I'm making real progress and–"

"Because it's wild territory," said Arthur calmly, causing his son to cease his steps suddenly. "You're the most familiar with magical creatures, and you're the most well-equipped to manage long stays in harsh conditions. I've seen you track an animal like–"

"An animal is much different than a human," he said, returning to his incessant pacing. "An animal has instinct which can be outwitted with a well-organized mind. A human has a strategy, a steady head, my tracking abilities will be useless."

"This girl seems to be more animal-like than human," said Arthur, rubbing the stubble upon his chin. "You can find her. I know you can."

"And what would I do if I were to miraculously find this wild woman?"

"Question her, see what her motives are," said Arthur anxiously, hoping Charlies question was a sign that he was caving to the Order's request. "She's been killing more and more Snatchers and rescuing countless muggle-borns every day, but she's not sought out the Order. She's skilled at her assassinations, as grim as that may sound, and if her justifications for these murders are sound then she needs to be persuaded to help us."

Charlie heaved a heavy sigh and collapsed onto the opposing velvet armchair across from his aging father, who looked older and more exhausted than he had ever seen him. Arthur had asked him to track down a serial killer, an assassin of Snatchers, a liberator of muggle-borns, and it would be more challenging than taming a dragon. He knew this already, and though he always liked a challenge, he was not keen on such an endeavor. He'd be facing harsh and dangerous wilderness to track down an assassin before Voldemort could. He rubbed his chin sloppily, closed his eyes for a long moment, and turned to look into the flames before speaking again.

"When do I leave?"

–

_**A/N: **__So this is most definitely not my typical fic. I like writing comedies, angst filled dramas, and fluffy young adult romances, and this is certainly not like any of that. If you like "Nothing But Words" then you will probably enjoy this. I hope it turns out like I hope, but only time will tell._

_**PS:**__ Please excuse typos for now. I'm tired, and I can hardly read anymore without passing out._

–

_**Review.**_


	2. Chapter 1: Lady of the Night

_**Chapter One**_

_Lady of the Night_

–

_One does evil enough when  
__One does nothing good._

–

Charlie Weasley clutched his long, dragon leather cloak around him, fighting the chilly autumn air and losing the battle. His cheeks were rosier than usual as he peered up at the moon, the only source of light in the dreary little village of Lords. He'd been searching for three weeks, _three bloody weeks_, for this nameless lady of the night. He'd slept on the ground for a majority of the time, too. He'd become paranoid that sleeping in his tent would prevent him from hearing any outside noises, or possibly heed his ability to pick up on passersby. Charlie had searched the Forest of Dean, Fairing Forest and was now beginning his trek through towards the Darkling Woods. He'd scoured the lands for any suspicious human footsteps but found nothing. He'd asked local townspeople and retrieved only rumors and guesses to her whereabouts, yet his father and the Order pressed him to go on. That was easy for them to say, he thought to himself. The other member of the Order weren't being forced to live like a nomad on little sleep and borrowed time.

Eaglehorn's Tavern looked to be the only open establishment as Charlie scanned the small town's main street. He knew from personal experience that the latest places to close were the most likely to house creatures with less than honorable intentions, and in this case, those sorts could be exactly what he was looking for. Clutching his cloak ever closer, Charlie slunk inside the pub, pulling the door shut behind him to fight the strong winds. All eyes slowly fell upon him as if the small crowd expected death himself to appear in the doorway. Charlie sent the group a fleeting smile and approached the bar. He pulled up a seat at the end of the counter and waited for the plump, aging bartender to serve him. Charlie nonchalantly surveyed the room, noticing a roaring fire and a couple stray candles were the only sources of light. Several small wooden tables decorated the one room tavern and no more than five or so patrons occupied the furniture, three at one table and the other two sat alone.

"What'll it be, son?" asked the bartender, noticeable stains upon his t-shirt now obvious to the young redhead.

"Just a pint," he nodded pleasantly, "and maybe sandwich or anything you have to eat."

The bartender nodded in reply and strode back behind counter to pull out a dusty glass to fill of alcohol. Charlie would be more likely to inquire a new glass, but he thought better of such an inquiry immediately. He retrieved a couple coins from his pocket and paid thankfully for his order. Charlie noticed a stray cat slink in through the window beside him, black as night and eyes a flame. The bartender returned again with a ham and cheese sandwich upon bread that was almost about to soil. The cat trailed lazily under Charlie's feet until it hopped upon the stool beside him and finally sprawled out on the counter against the wall next to the handsome young warlock. Charlie smiled kindly at the feline and tore of a piece of his sandwich and offered it to the animal. It seemed to eye him curiously before turning its nose up at the idea of being served table scraps.

"Suit yourself," he shrugged, popping the morsel into his mouth.

After a couple minutes passed by, an elderly man with a worn bowler hat approached the counter with an empty mug in hand. Charlie recognized him to be one of the two men sitting by their lonesome. The bartender sent the man a friendly smirk and came before him which implied a prior friendship. The old man sat down beside Charlie and sent him a wrinkled grin.

"Not from around here, are ye?" he said with confidence.

"How can you tell?" Charlie replied.

"If you were a local then you would have known to never order food from Izzy," he smirked wisely.

Charlie laughed lightly in reply and thought for a moment whether or not the cat had denied his meal offer due to prior knowledge too.

"My food is just fine, Rooney," the bartender identified as 'Izzy' argued. "Don't let him influence ye, son."

"It tastes alright to me," he shrugged, "though a stick of bark would fit my fancy after the rubbish I've been eating lately."

"Doesn't a nice young lad like you have wife to do your cooking for you?" asked Rooney.

"Nah, I'm still looking for the right girl," he replied.

"Well, don't overlook a couple wrong ones along the way," Rooney laughed.

Charlie half smiled at the old man and took another swig of his pint. He needed to casually mention what he was looking for, and he thought maybe he'd found an 'in' with the two men.

"I hear there has been a rather wrong sort of woman around these parts lately," said Charlie, coyly as he concentrated on the beer in his hand.

"There are loads of wrong sorts in Lords," Izzy snorted. "You'd have to be a bit more specific than that."

"I don't know her name," said Charlie in a quiet tone. "I don't think anyone does."

"You wouldn't be implying that you be after the Bastet, would ye?" asked Rooney, sending Izzy a suspicious glare.

"What if I was?" he replied.

"I'd have to ask you for your business with 'er," said Rooney. "We don't go giving up information about our friends so freely."

"From what I hear, she has no friends," said Charlie, "or soul for that matter."

"No soulless creature would risk their life like she does to save them Muggleborns," said Rooney. "She's a saint."

"But she kills in the process, Rooney," said Izzy. "She ain't no saint for that."

"If it's the devil you're fighting then there isn't anything wrong with a few casualties," said Rooney confidently.

"I dunno, Rooney, I still say she's dangerous," said Izzy. "I wouldn't trust 'er. You don't know what her motives are."

"Have either of you ever seen her in person?" asked Charlie.

"Nah, not many of the living have," said Rooney. "Some whispers about town say she'll be just South of Darkling Woods in the near future. Some Snatchers have been patrolling there the last few days."

"Bastards," Izzy muttered, "like them Muggleborns did anything to deserve that. You lose someone to them Snatchers or something, boy?"

"Or something," Charlie nodded, chancing a glance at the lazy black cat and earning a narrowed glare in return.

–

"Sister, what on earth has you so unnerved?" asked Narcissa, her eyes following her as her darker complected sibling as she paced back and forth like a caged tiger.

Bellatrix walked back and forth across the stone walled bedroom that was her designated chambers whilst inhabiting Malfoy Manor. Her eyes were wilder than usual, her hands shaky and rigid as her sister looked on. Her open palm claimed her collarbone, rubbing the base of her neck until it appeared raw. Narcissa strode forward, finally gripping Bellatrix's forearms and locking her eyes.

"Bella, what in the name of Merlin's name is wrong?" she hissed.

"It's her," she breathed hoarsely. "Cissy, it's her – I know she is the one they're after."

"Bella, you are surely mistaken," said Bella, her breaths become raspy and quick.

"No, sister," said Bellatrix in a barely audible whisper, "she is very much alive, and it will not be long before I am her next kill."

–

Charlie reached the heart of the Darkling Woods only a few hours before sunrise. The air was thin and bitter, the icy breeze bit at the back of his neck but he knew a fire was not an option. Charlie sought out his old and worn in sleeping bag that belonged to Bill before him. He would search further for the Bastet in the morning – once he received a few hours of much deserved sleep. He knelt down beside a pile of brush, unpacking his necessities and using only the illuminated tip of his wand for light. He was so exhausted. His mind had grown fuzzy and slow from the endless hours on his feet – searching for someone that Charlie had began to wonder was even still alive. He'd gathered a couple moderately useful tips and gossip as he traveled through nameless towns from a wide range of frightened witches and wizards. A small pile of leaves suddenly rustled behind him, causing Charlie to jump and jerk his head to see the source of the noise. He saw no one but the leaves appeared no less settled.

"Did you see that?"

A voice from the darkness called out as a few sets of footsteps approached. Charlie gasped involuntarily and ceased the dim light from his wand, turning back the way he had before the abrupt sound had startled him. He pushed himself backwards, low to the ground and hid behind a thick stump behind the brush.

"See what, Scabior?" an all too familiar bark-like voice snapped.

Charlie recognized the voice as that of Fenrir Greyback, the monster who had claimed many innocent lives before and disfigured his older brother. Charlie's jaw grew stiff as his grip upon his wand became tight and violent.

"I could 'ave sworn I saw a light from over there," said Scabior.

"You're tired, and your eyes are playing tricks on you," said Fenrir.

A snapped twig rang out behind Charlie again as he turned to face the two men with the intention of firing a spell to overtake them. Before Charlie could even begin to process the happenings around him, he was abruptly forced onto the earth. His back struck the frozen ground harshly, a faint cloud of dirt and dust encircled his body. When Charlie reopened his eyes after overcoming the initial shock of being thrown down he couldn't believe what was holding him to the grass, covering his mouth. A hand was not forcing Charlie silent but a big black paw, a paw that belonged to the enormous black panther that crushed him under its weight. Charlie's eyes were wide and the paw that silenced him was deemed unnecessary as he was unable to formulate a single sound. The beast did not look at him at first; it was slouched down, peering slyly through the bushes at the Snatchers surrounding them.

"What was that?" Scabior muttered, stepping nervously behind Fenrir.

"I heard nothing," Fenrir snorted. "You're paranoid, Scabior."

It was then that the animal looked at Charlie for the first time. Its chilling yellow eyes glared into Charlie's own. He couldn't move or breathe for that matter. The eyes of the beast did not change but as soon as Charlie began to process the animal atop him, he watched motionlessly as it transformed into a human. It was the Bastet. She had long black hair, as shiny and straight as the animal she had previously been. Her eyes remained yellow with coal outlining their eerie glow. She was very thin, her waist contorted in a binding, black leather corset. She was very pretty though her right eye bore a visible scar from above her brow to just above her cheek. Her chest rose and fell with great haste, keeping her bony fingers firmly over Charlie's mouth. She slowly brought her other hand to her mouth, placing her index finger against her lips to quiet him before decisively leaping off of him, transforming back into the panther from before and sneaking elusively into the brush. Charlie instantly rolled over, instinctively reaching for his wand and crawled quietly to monitor his surroundings.

"Let's go then," Scabior insisted. "She's not here, our source was wrong."

The panther laid low, inching closer and closer to the two Snatchers, unbeknownst to them.

"Fine, we'll start again in the morning," said Greyback, firmly gripping his comrade by the upper arm and disappearing into thin air. Just as they disapparated, the beast leapt into the air, missing the duo by no more than a second. It skidded against the earth when it landed, carving unintended paw marks in the cool earth. It slunk about and released a loud, furious roar into the night; the animal then transformed back into its human form. The woman remained hunched up on all fours for a moment, surveying the area where Charlie laid. She flashed her teeth like an animal hungry for its prey before finally standing erect once again. She released a furious cry, frustrated and abrupt.

"Stupid!" she sneered, striding determinedly towards Charlie. "Stupid child! Using a light in the darkness? Foolish and naïve like – baby! "

"I'm sorry, I –"

"Shut up!" she bellowed. "SHUT UP!"

She spoke with an accent Charlie did not recognize. It was some sort of strange mixture of Cogney with Irish and a hint of Eastern European or perhaps Western Asia. He couldn't quite place it. She glared down at him like she was fighting every molecule in her body, like she wanted to kill him where he lay. After several more unnerving moments of intense stares, the woman released a ferocious grunt of frustration. She stomped off in the other direction, picking up her disregarded dagger with one swift motion. Charlie moved quickly, hurrying to his feet to take after her. The woman thought better than that and gracefully spun around, holding her dagger against Charlie's throat, keeping him from coming any closer. He gulped uncomfortably, glancing down at the dagger before meeting her intense gaze again. Charlie could see, even in the darkness, that the dagger was stained red from blood.

"Do not follow me," she hissed.

"Please," he began delicately. "I don't mean you any harm."

"I know that, stupid boy," she sneered. "We would not be having this conversation if you did."

"Then just wait a moment," he pleaded. "I just want to talk."

"Is that really all you want from me, Charlie Weasley?" she snorted. "You cannot expect me to believe that you have been following me for nearly a month with the simple intention to speak with me?"

"How– How do you know that?" he breathed uncomfortably. "And how do you know my name?"

"You underestimate me," she said. "You thought you were tracking me when it was I who was tracking you all along."

–

_**A/N:** So this came off more stilted than I planned, but I am alright with this. I hope you enjoyed it. Things will start heating up soon. Excuse any typos for now. Chapters will be longer from the next chapter on._

_**Coming Soon:** Charlie learns more of the Bastet, Bellatrix is even more terrified, and the hunt is on for the Bastet's head._

–

_**Review.**_


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